Matthew 4:12-23 "Risky Business"

         “In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.”  Beautiful, but…

         That is not my writing.  That is how Norman McLean begins one of my favorite novels, A River Runs Through It.  However, I always thought it was such a wonderful way to begin a sermon about Jesus calling his first disciples by the lakeshore in Galilee.  You see, in A River Runs Through It, fishing was in the blood of that family.  It touched the essence of who they were.  And so it was for Zebedee and his sons, James and John, in first century Palestine.  Fishing had run in their family veins for generations.

         On this particular day, however, Zebedee just stood on the old wooden dock, his arms raised in question.  He looked at the half-mended nets and shook his head.  His two sons had flown the coop. Gone!   And the day laborers he had hired were no help here. They could not be trusted to ensure that the nets were fish-worthy.  Zebedee was….well, he was in a pickle.

         His small, family-based fishing cooperative that managed to bring in enough money to allow them to be a whit above the poverty line had just fallen apart. It had been dismantled in a single encounter. You see, James and John had come under the thrall of the self-declared rabbi who had wandered into Capernaum. 

         Zebedee had noticed him talking to his boys this very dawn.  The young upstart’s reputation preceded him, of course.  Or, at least, rumor had it that Jesus had left his father’s carpentry business the same way James and John were leaving the fishnets.  Just walked out one day, leaving the old man high and dry. 

         And now, Zebedee had to tell his wife – and that was one conversation he was not looking forward to.

         “Honey, they wandered off with Jesus.”

         “Who did?”

         “James and John.”

         “James and John?  Our James and John?  With Jesus?  That hippie carpenter’s son who has been hanging around recently? 

         “Yup.  He’s the one.”

         “You mean, they just left their work?  Well, they’ll have a lot of catching up to do when they get back later today.”

         “Honey, I don’t think they’re coming back later today.”

         “Well, when they come back tomorrow then.  They’ll be sorry.  I made their favorite hummus spread for dinner tonight too.”

         “I don’t think they’re coming back tomorrow either.  I think they may be gone a while.”

         “A while?  Like a week?”

         “Longer, maybe.”

         “Longer than a week?  But that hummus spread will go bad if we don’t eat it right away.”

         Oh, the wife will be mad – and she will blame him.  Zebedee was pretty sure of that.  He could hear it now:  He had been too hard on the boys when they were younger.  He had not been hard enough.

         Whatever was that Jesus up to anyway? Zebedee wondered.   Clearly he saw himself as the successor to John the Baptizer, preaching the identical message of repentance.  But at least John had operated on his own, solo. 

The prophet might have been wild and crazy, but the fact of the matter was that he did not pull innocent hard-working young men into some sort of cult-like ministry. 

         Jesus, on the other hand, was looking for followers, wheedling unsuspecting sons into making risky split second decisions, ones that destroyed families and businesses.  That Jesus was bad for the local economy.    

         And it looks like he envisions himself as a real rabbi too -seeking his own circle of neophytes.  Did he not know that he was way out-of-bounds on that one?  After all, becoming a true disciple in the ancient Jewish rabbinic tradition was a long and arduous path. 

         It all began when a young boy was only four or five.  Under the tutelage of the local rabbi, he would study  - and memorize - the Torah – the first five books of Holy Scripture - until he mastered them around age 10.  That was when the weeding out began. 

         Those who were cut would either learn the family business or pick up the skills of a decent trade in the community.  Only the best stayed on in the synagogue, digging into the whys and wherefores of interpreting Scripture and continuing to memorize their Hebrew Scriptures – 39 books in all. 

         Another big cut came when a boy reached the age of 14 or 15.  Only the very best of the best would be encouraged to continue studying and would need to search for their own rabbi-mentor – maybe in a distant town or even in Jerusalem.  The ones left behind would become carpenters and fishermen – just like their fathers and grandfathers before them. 

         Jesus was no trained rabbi, nor was James and John among the best of the best.  Jesus’ idea of training apparently was simply to beckon, “Follow me” – and then add some mumbo-jumbo about fishing for people – leaving the meaning of that up to whatever a couple of foolhardy boys might imagine.  Unlike the synagogue rabbis, it seemed to make no difference to Jesus who they were or where they were on their life’s journey.  “Follow me.”  And that was that.

         You know, when we read this passage, we almost always first focus on the demand – “Follow me.”  Without a doubt, it is pretty straightforward – with not a lot of wiggle room.  It is not like Jesus is saying:  “I wonder if you would consider the possibility of tagging along if you have the time, and it's not too inconvenient.  “

         That uncompromising demand would be enough in this day and age of mainstream secularism to make us stop in our tracks, but then, when we read the response of the two fisher boys, well, it is surprising that anyone is still sitting here in these hard wooden pews. We are told that they followed Jesus “immediately”, “at once”.  James and John not only dropped their nets, leaving their father holding the bag when it came to sustaining the family income.  They also did not even kiss their mother goodbye or take the time to pack a picnic lunch.  Instead, they made a split second decision to be all in with the itinerant rabbi. 

         Is that what we were supposed to have done?  We who profess to be followers and disciples of Jesus?  We who sense that, in some mysterious way, we have been called too – though, to what, we are not entirely certain?  Were we supposed to have made some sort of split second decision to be all in with the itinerant rabbi too?        

         Maybe we kind of get the “follow” piece and the responsibility that goes along with it.  But the “immediately”, the “at once” bit?  Surely that makes us ponder if we ought to be calling ourselves Christian at all.

I mean, how many of us were so confident that we dropped everything and declared ourselves all in, as James and John so clearly did?  I suspect that sounds a bit risky to many of us!

         Well, let me offer two points that can help us us feel more confident choosing to be here each Sunday, more confident in using the descriptor Christian, more confident in affirming our call and in embracing the inherent risk that goes along with it. 

         First, remember that Jesus chose ordinary people.  In other words, here in our faith community at least, you do not have to have it altogether to have a place among us. You do not have to have all the answers.  We are all trying to figure out what this call business actually means – but not alone, rather in community. 

         As Lutheran pastor Amy Kumm-Hanson wrote, “what we do know is that the disciples were not plucked out of some seminary or discipleship training school. There was not a job interview or a competency exam.  Jesus came to them right in the middle of what they were doing.  Jesus called ordinary people right in the middle of their ordinary lives to do extraordinary things.  

        

         They were not called based on their stellar qualifications.  And as the Gospel of Matthew moves along, we hear that the disciples are just human.  They repeatedly fail to notice that Jesus is the Messiah.  They just cannot seem to get their heads around the fact that he is a different kind of King and isn’t going to take down their enemies in some show of force.  They fall asleep in the Garden of Gethsemane when Jesus asks them several times to stay awake.  Simon Peter, one of the first disciples called by Jesus as we hear today, will go on to deny Jesus three times.  Another disciple, Judas, will actually betray Jesus.” 

         You see, we are called not to right behaviors all the time.  After all, we are human.  Instead, we are called to be in relationship with Jesus and, in doing so, to be in relationship with all the world’s people. 

         Second, around here, we do not buy into the idea that we are called once to make a split second decision – and that’s that.  Instead, we believe that Jesus calls us over and over again, every day of our lives. 

        

         Each time we are faced with a moral choice and ask ourselves the question – “What would Jesus do?” we are called.  Every time we have an opportunity to peacefully and powerfully side with the poor and the marginalized, we are called.  Whenever we hear that little voice in our head that tells us that someone – someone - needs to speak out for justice, we are called. 

         Risky?  You bet, but that is part of the reason why we affirm and act upon this call in community.  You see, each one of you has chosen this church to be the group of like-minded people in whose company you will take the risk to answer your call and support others as they answer their calls.  Each one of you has chosen this church family as the anchor where you will take the risk to be molded by one another through the Holy Spirit, molded and shaped into agents of possibility.  Each one of you has chosen this congregation as the one with whom you will take the risk to walk Jesus’ path of justice and peace. Each one of you has chosen this church to rejoice in the fact that God has given you not only a name – Beloved – but also a special purpose for good in this world.

         It did not matter to Jesus where James and John had been and where they were on their life’s journey.  Jesus took a risk on them.  Jesus takes a risk on us too– as individuals but also as a church.  

         As one blogger wrote, “For reasons known only to heaven, God is constantly taking risks on all kinds of people — people who fish for a living, people who are too young to have jobs, people who have retired. Every day God …takes risks on people like you and me.  But one thing is certain.  One thing the Bible makes clear about the call of Christ is that the One who calls us is the same One who gives us the strength, the resources, to follow.” 

         “The One who calls us is the same One who gives us the strength, the resources, to follow.” I do hope you will remember that as we move soon into our Annual Meeting, there to celebrate where we have been and, more importantly, where we are going and how in heaven’s name we will get there.  It is risky, and a lot of it is still in the dark, but I hope you will answer that call – and stick around for the meeting because we are all in this together – like James and John – no matter who we are or where we are on our life’s journey.

Matthew 3:13-17 "Beloved"

         I have done a fair number of baptisms during my decades in ordained ministry.  I have baptized adults, teenagers, children, toddlers, and infants – mostly in churches but a couple in the neo-natal units of hospitals.  Once many years ago, I baptized our older son.  Paddy was not quite two years old back then. 

         Joe and I held him on our arms in front of the congregation I was serving at the time.  After I had made the sign of the cross with water on his head, had said the age-old words naming him as a child of God, and had blessed him, Paddy gleefully tossed up into the air three pencils, a wadded up piece of paper, and the little pad that paper had been torn from, all items that he had, unbeknownst to his parents, been clutching in his small hands the whole time.  Looking back on it, I like to think of it as a gesture of joy.

         It was a surprise, to be sure, but somewhat gratifying.  After all, he had not sobbed through the whole ceremony, but rather he seemed to have taken great delight in its essence, that is, in knowing once and for all time that he was one of God’s beloved ones.

        I have had parents approach me about having their child “done” and parents wanting their kids baptized privately because they do not go to church and do not intend to either, and people desiring to be re-baptized because they once belonged to one kind of church and now belonged to another and someone told them that their first baptism was not the real thing because the water was sprinkled and not poured or because they were dunked or not dunked. 

         However, though baptism certainly involves water, it does not matter whether drops or gallons are used.  And, when you come right down to it, except in extraordinary circumstances, baptism is not a private ritual but has a lot to do with a church community.  And one does not need to be baptized more than once – regardless of when, where, and how it was first accomplished.  And baptism is certainly not, as Presbyterian pastor Philip McLarty reminds us, “an inoculation against sickness and death, accidents or other misfortune, but it is a reassurance that, come what may, God will be with us to give us the grace we need to overcome all adversity.”

        Christian baptism, of course, has its roots in the story of Jesus’ baptism.  It is one of only a handful of narratives that is found in all four Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John), so one must assume that it is a very important concept indeed.  It stands to reason that it was designated sacrament-status early on.

         However, given our 21^st century vantage point and the fact that baptism has become a somewhat quaint and definitely antiquated church tradition in the eyes of many and that, as proof positive, I would bet that most of us cannot remember being inspired by our children’s baptisms, let alone remember (or been told) a whit about our own, given all that, we may not see what John was doing there in the middle of the muddy Jordan River as all that impressive.  However, in first century Palestine, the common practice in Jesus’s day was for Gentiles who wanted to become Jews to be baptized.  However, those folks born into Judaism saw no need of baptism for themselves. 

         And yet, Jews by the hundreds were queued up on the shoreline, waiting to be dunked by John the Baptizer.  What gives?  As Philip McLarty continues, “Clearly, something was up.  A new day was dawning.  The Kingdom of God was at hand.  Jews of every stripe and from every corner of Judea were coming to be baptized.  But that’s not all.  Matthew says, “Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him.”    

         Baptism marked the start of Jesus’ ministry in the eyes of the Gospel writer of Matthew.  John lowered Jesus into the water, and when Jesus re-emerged, the Gospel writer tells us, low and behold the Holy Spirit descended like a dove, just like the old prophet Isaiah had said would happen:

And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him (just like that bird that came fluttering down),
the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and might,
the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.
(Isaiah 11:2)

         Then a voice that could only have been that of the Holy One resounded from the clouds above saying, "This is my beloved, with whom I am well pleased."

And when the voice boomed out, from that moment forward, Jesus had no doubt about who he was and whose he was:  “You are my Beloved.” 

         And only then did he begin his ministry, never forgetting that sacred bond God had forged with him.  And so, as Presbyterian pastor Stan Gockel reminds us, Jesus “reached out to the poor, the oppressed, and the downtrodden… healed the sick, raised the dead, and set people free from demonic oppression.  He did it because he remembered his baptism— remembered who he was, (whose he was), and what he was called to do.”

         You know, baptism was very problematic in the early church.  As the theology around Jesus as the Christ solidified and he was seen more and more as one without fault or shortcoming, the inevitable question arose about why in heaven’s name he needed to be baptized in the first place if baptism was all about the forgiveness of sins. 

         However, to look at the meaning of baptism only in those terms is to limit its inherent grace as a sacrament.  Baptism is so much more.  By being baptized, surely Jesus was demonstrating for us, in no uncertain terms, that not only was he part of his everyday, Jewish community, but he was also always to be counted among the greater community of all the people of God – never to be separate from you and me. 

         And now, all these eons later, we can reflect on this powerful story found in all four Gospels and acknowledge that, yes – it is true:  The Word was made flesh, pitched a tent, and moved into the neighborhood – our neighborhood – and so lives among us.  God made a choice – and has never backed away from that choice: God chose us.  God chose us to make God’s dream for the world a reality.  In Jesus, God stands with us.  We are God’s beloved ones too, daughters and sons of the Holy One. 

         As Lutheran scholar David Lose reminds us, “And this is where these stories of Jesus' baptism intersects with the stories of our own. For we, too, can only live into the mission that God has set for us to the degree that we hear and believe the good news that we, too, are beloved children of God.  As with Jesus, we discover in baptism who we are by hearing definitively whose we are. Baptism is nothing less than the promise that we are God's beloved children: That no matter where we go, God will be with us, that no matter what we may do, God is for us and will not abandon us. In baptism we are blessed with the promise of God's (Everlasting) Spirit and given a name” – and that name is Beloved.  Through baptism, we discover and affirm who we are and whose we are.

          There was once a drunk who stumbled upon a baptismal service one Sunday afternoon down by the river. It was down south, back in the day, and this guy walked right down into the water and stood next to the Preacher.

         The minister turned and noticed the old drunk and said, "Mister, Are you ready to find Jesus?" The drunk looked back and said, "Yes, Preacher. I sure am." The minister then dunked the fellow under the water and pulled him right back up.

        "Have you found Jesus?" the preacher asked. "No, I haven't!" said the drunk. The preacher then dunked him under for a bit longer, brought him up and said, "Now, brother, have you found Jesus?" "No, I haven't, Preacher."

         The preacher in disgust held the man under for at least 30 seconds this time, brought him out of the water and said in a harsh tone, "Friend, are you sure you haven't found Jesus yet?"

         The old drunk wiped his eyes, gasping for breath, and said to the preacher,..."Naw preacher, but are you sure this is where he fell in?"

         Baptism is not about being saved.  It is not some sort of magic charm that will keep you or your child from harm.  As one blogger wrote, “Baptism isn't where you find Jesus; it's what you do once you've found him.” 

         In baptism, we are named.  In baptism, we are given a new identity, one that is formed (and informed) by love.  In baptism, we are grafted to a community (that would be the church) whose very foundation is compassion and healing and reconciliation. 

In baptism, we are accepted as beloved, as children of God.  In baptism, (and this is important), in baptism, we are challenged to accept others, to understand others as children of God as well. 

         Now all of that is pretty heady and, I would say, inspirational stuff.  That being said, maybe we should be remembering our own baptism a bit more – because surely, if taken seriously, it determines how we live our lives.  It puts us on the illuminated path that will take us out of the darkness and to our destination.  In baptism, we are accepted as beloved, as children of God.  In baptism, we are challenged to accept others, to understand others as children of God as well – and surely that challenge is big on that illuminated path that takes us to the place where God’s dream for the world will come true.

         Think about that for a moment – the power of acceptance, the power of affirming humanity’s “belovedness”.  How would our lives be different if they were grounded in accepting rather than rejecting others?  How would the politics of our nation change if we dropped the labels “liberal” and “conservative” and all the posturing and finger-pointing that goes along with them, if we engaged in dialogue rather than reading our Twitter feed? 

How would our lives be transformed if we sought first to understand rather than be understood, if we were not content until we had searched and found that which we hold in common rather than that which divides us? 

         Here’s a great little video clip that I think illustrates this point.  It happens to be an ad for Amazon that went viral - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ouu6LGGIWsc

         As Christians, we look to baptism as the grace-filled affirmation of our common identity as children of God.  Baptism tells us once and for all, as human beings, who we are and whose we are – regardless of everything that might divide us - and challenges us, with God’s help, to live our lives as if that sprinkling or pouring or dunking really mattered.

Matthew 2:1-12 "Starlit Paths"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly! 

         In the film, “Love Actually”, which is one of my holiday favorites, there is a scene where a young girl excitedly announces that her school class would be performing the annual Nativity Play that Christmas – and she would be assuming the role of a lobster. 

         “A lobster?” her mother inquires.  “Was there a lobster in the stable when Jesus was born?”

         The daughter gives her mother a withering look as only a preteen girl can.  “Well, yeah!  Duh!” she replies. 

         There may be a lot of things that we do not know about the birth of Jesus – though I remain unconvinced that the presence of a lobster is one of them.  However, children do seem to have interesting perspectives on the birth stories, which are told only in the Gospels of Matthew and in Luke. 

         It is like some kindergarteners in Great Britain who were asked about the visit of the Magi in the Christmas story.  One young boy declared confidently that the three wise men brought Jesus “some gold stuff, but Legos would have been better”!     

       Ah yes – the magi.  Sometimes we call them kings or Wise Men (Wise Ones if we want to be politically correct). They were the Gentiles from the East who make an appearance only in the Gospel of Matthew.  We presume that there were three of them, but that is only because the Gospel writer lists three gifts – gold, frankincense, myrrh, and no Legos.  Not necessarily the most useful of presents for a family with insufficient funds to even bribe their way into decent accommodations in Bethlehem.  Gold would have been an asset (though the neighbors would wonder where an indigent carpenter and his pregnant fiancé came up with a pot of it).  Frankincense was a reasonable air freshener for the bathroom, but myrrh?

         In our mind’s eye, we either see the Magi strutting off on foot across the desert with their gifts uplifted toward the sky, or we imagine them perched on camels.  However, neither of those scenarios is Biblically-based, and both have assumed a truthfulness only because of the depictions of Renaissance painters and Hallmark greeting card graphic artists. 

        The Gospel writer does tell us that the Magi did not arrive in time for Jesus’ birth in the stable in Bethlehem, so they never rubbed shoulders with the shepherds, never saw an angel or heard a heavenly proclamation, and never felt the reverberations of the glorias that shook the nighttime sky.

         The Magi were from the East – which is the Gospel writer’s way of telling us that they came from a great distance and so from a different culture.  They must have left home, the most familiar of places, and set off on their journey, not knowing how long it would take or just where they would end up since the destination itself was a holy mystery. 

         The Magi were clearly not Jews but were more likely practitioners of some off beat or pagan religion like Zoroastrianism.  Unlike the unwashed, uneducated, rough and tumble shepherds, the Magi must have been quite wealthy to come up with the gifts they did.  They were educated men, ancient scientists or maybe philosophers who understood their spirituality far differently than Mary and Joseph.  The Magi were part of the upper crust of their communities.  They were well-respected men about town.

         We also know that, before they found the baby Jesus, they strolled into Jerusalem – perhaps bent on taking a breather and putting their feet up for a bit or maybe figuring that the capital city would be where the movers and shakers were, like-minded people who might be able to assure them that they were headed in the right direction.  However, it seems that they were terribly naïve when they started openly inquiring about a new king to supplant Herod, the current dictator. 

         Surely they must have surmised that it would not take long for their presence and peculiar questions to reach King Herod, and surely his reputation preceded him.  Surely the Magi must have known how such a petty and paranoid king would react. 

         As one blogger wrote, “King Herod was a smart man. He was shrewd as a snake and brutal beyond belief. Herod knew how the world worked and he used it to his full advantage. History shows that he overcame his enemies the good old-fashioned ways: He either BOUGHT them or he BUTCHERED them. The Jewish religious leadership opposed his kingship – so he built the Jewish leaders a beautiful new temple. The aristocracy of Palestine opposed him, so he simply killed off 45 of the leading noble families.

And when it came to his chief opponent, Aristobulus, Herod invited him to a swimming party in the Jordan River, bribed his bodyguards and had him drowned. And then turned around and threw him a magnificent funeral! Herod was one sharp, one smart, one shrewd cookie.”

         However, the Magi were no dummies either.  They played along with Herod’s little game of wits and then hustled out of Jerusalem – and out of reach - as soon as possible - without attracting unwanted attention. 

         We also know that the Magi eventually found the Christ Child. They followed the glow in the nighttime sky.  They followed the glistening rays that shone more brightly than anything they had ever seen before.  They followed their hopes and dreams and found their heart’s desire.  They followed the star and found the Light of the World. 

         I find it interesting that, in our Christmas pageants – not just here but in most churches – we choose the most precious and youngest child we can find to carry the shining star attached to a pole.  When you really think about it, this child – in all his or her innocence – carries for everyone of us to see the one symbol in this story of Jesus’ birth that has the potential to empower us – you and me - to be all that God envisions us being as sons and daughters of the Almighty.  The most precious and youngest child carries the fate of the world on the top of a pole.

       We dim the sanctuary lights on Christmas Eve as the child walks slowly down the center aisle in darkness, the lighted star swaying slightly on its pole.  And maybe in that darkness, we remember that, as Presbyterian pastor Alan Brehm wrote, “The world into which Jesus was born was full of all kinds of this darkness.  Many lived out their lives as slaves of one kind or another, …dependent for their daily bread on the arbitrary generosity of those who owned the majority of the land.  And the shadow of the Roman Empire was cast over the whole Mediterranean world--a shadow cast by ruthless conquerors that had no conscience about enforcing their will with the edge of a sword and the point of a spear.  For many in Jesus’ day, there was no hope of anything better.”

      And if we do not think about the darkness of first century Palestine as we watch the child pick his or her way down the aisle toward the manger, maybe we think about the darkness of our own world.  Maybe we conjure up images of broken dreams, shattered hopes, failures, shame, and fear – in this New Year of 2017, above all, images of fear. 

       Last week in worship, many of you wrote down your greatest fear for this upcoming year and gently laid those slips of paper in the manger.  By the end of the service, the baby Jesus was nestled in neatly folded or rolled bulletin inserts containing your heartfelt fears and your promises.  The former spanned the spectrum from school exams to health concerns, from caring for elderly parents to recurring cancer, from dementia to Donald Trump, from the possibility of war to the inevitability of climate change, from your lack of energy at a time when energy is so needed to our national inability to communicate effectively with one another.  And the list goes on. 

         However, as Lutheran pastor, David Lose asks us, “ What does fear do to us? Do we install more security systems in our homes and cars? Do we build more gates or buy more guns? Do we save even more for retirement, pulling back from charitable contributions to make sure we have enough? Do we close our hearts – and minds – to those who are different?”

         Or, I would ask:  Do we boldly acknowledge those fears and, in their midst and in spite of them, re-imagine the Magi in our own lives?  Think about it. 

         The Magi did not have a whole lot to go on – just a great expanse of desert and miles of unknown territory that would take them so far from home and so out of their comfort zone.  All they really had was a star, just a queer hunch and nagging feeling that if they followed the path that the star illuminated, that if they trusted the light to take them to where they wanted to go, that if they did not let their fear of the darkness overwhelm them, they would find what they were looking for.

         Do we, like the Magi, need to go beyond the boundaries we set for ourselves and follow the star God has set before us?  Surely that is one big question.  As scholar and teacher John Phillip Newell wrote, “Tragically we have often been given the impression that we have all the light we need, within our nation, within our religious tradition, within our cultural inheritance.  But our Gospel story points to something radically different, that there is Light beyond our inherited boundaries, and that we need this Light, that it is given to complete the Light we have received, not to compete with the Light we have received. We need one another as nations and religions as much as the species of the Earth need one another to be whole.”

         Do we, like the Magi, need to believe that there is a star – a light – something bright and so beautiful that illumines a path forward for us – a path that will take us past our fears and closer to transforming ourselves into all that God wants us to be?  That, of course, is the other big question – and only you can answer it for yourself and for your own life.  Is there a star?  And, if so, where will it lead you – and are you willing to follow it?

       To that, as your pastor, I remind you of the words of the prophet Isaiah:  “Arise! Shine!  For your light has come.” 

       It is imperative, right now, in 2017, that we trust the light and not the darkness: that we trust the power of God and what we can do for other people and not the power of fear and what it might do to us.

      How might that imperative play out for you in this New Year? Where – across unknown territory and out of your comfort zone - might the star – the light – lead you?  Well, let me share in closing ten New Year’s resolutions of Shane Clairborne, a Christian activist.  And I will bet that at least some of them are on your path of light:

1. Do for one person what you wish that you could do for everyone, but can’t.

2. Practice resurrection. Make ugly things beautiful and bring dead things back to life. Look for God in the unlikely places.

3. Interrupt death. Do something regularly to interrupt the patterns of violence, bullying, war, capital punishment and other mean and ugly things.

4. Give more money away than you keep. And do it in a way that takes away the power of money and celebrates the power of love.

5. Write letters and notes to people, letting them know you are thankful for them. Write a note asking for forgiveness from someone you need to ask to forgive you.

6. Do something really nice – that no one sees or knows about.

7. Compliment someone you have a hard time complimenting… and mean it.

8. Pause before every potential crisis and ask: “Will this matter in 5 years?”

9.  Learn a skill – like welding – and use it for something redemptive, like turning a machine gun into a farm tool.

10. Rather than emphasizing the best of yourself - and finding the worst in others –work on the worst in yourself and look for the best in others.

         “Arise!  Shine!  For your light has come.”  Approach this coming year with the sure and steadying knowledge that God has hung out a star for each one of us, and, if we trust that star as the Magi trusted theirs eons ago, it will light the path for us to the Christ Child and, more importantly, light the path to all he stood for even as it moves us toward life in its fullest and joy beyond imagining.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine